


The Things This Desk Has Seen

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Journalism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 06:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18148502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Killian and Emma take advantage of an empty office. A smutty, 1950s historical AU.





	The Things This Desk Has Seen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snidgetsafan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snidgetsafan/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, @snidgetsafan!
> 
> You've so encouraged the crazy 1950's journalism AU I still need to write someday. In the meantime, enjoy this smutty outtake. Rated E for filthy filthy smut.
> 
> For those of you who haven't seen my outline like L has, it's set in 1952-1953, Emma writes for the ladies' pages at the same paper Killian works at, and Liam (the editor) and Elsa (the owner) have a lot of angry sex that everyone knows about instead of talking through their problems. I think that's it. Hopefully I'll be able to start writing the actual MC fic after CSSNS is done!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Killian, where are you taking me?” Emma hisses, not unenthusiastically, as her beau eagerly drags her across the office. They’d just been taking advantage of the empty newsroom to trade a series of increasingly passionate kisses, none of the other paper’s staff particularly eager to be at their desks before 10am when most of them were still turning in print copy in the wee hours of the morning, before he’d broken away to grab her hand and pull her along.

Killian’s grin as he turns back is probably best described as  _ fiendish _ \- maybe just mischievous, if one was feeling generous. “Liam’s office.” 

With those words, he releases her hand to reach for the knob, snaking his stump arm around Emma’s waist instead to still keep her close. She’s never minded the abbreviated appendage, and especially not now she’s pressed close into his firm body as Killian quickly ushers them inside. Being in here, especially knowing where Killian’s mind must be going, sets nerves fluttering in Emma’s stomach - Liam is their editor, after all, their  _ boss _ , even if he is also Killian’s brother and greatest annoyance. But there’s excitement there as well - and dare she say it,  _ arousal _ .

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. She has no interest in being caught, but truth be told, she hopes Killian has some kind of excuse to keep going. She’s been widowed for more than two years; she’s allowed a little leniency of this type in her love life, as long as they’re not going at it in Central Park or some such. Then again, she’s a young widow with an even younger son; as much as she feels for Killian, they don’t often have  _ time _ for this kind of intimate moment, let alone the privacy needed.

“After everything I’ve had to listen to from him and Miss Frost? I think we’ve earned this,” he replies, methodically clearing stacks of paper from the heavy desk. That’s one of the odd little things Emma is so fond of in him: his meticulousness, even when she knows he must be driven to distraction by desire. Liam keeps a couch in his office as well, but if Killian has plans for the desk instead, Emma isn’t inclined to argue. Instead, she sets to methodically closing all of the blinds, creating a little private haven for the two of them.

By the time she turns around from locking the deadbolt, he’s already waiting right behind with hungry eyes and a hand that flexes and twiddles with itself, like it’s itching to wander and touch and all those other delicious, dirty things they came in here to indulge. Emma gladly allows him to crowd her back against the door, the hard wooden surface providing just the right brace for her to lean against and hitch a stockinged leg over his hip. There’s a few minutes of delicious grinding as Killian takes eager advantage of her position, the hardening bulge still contained within his trousers offering a beautiful friction even through their clothing as their tongues duel above and set those first sparks of  _ something _ tingling, before Killian suddenly pulls back to stoop and secure his arms beneath her thighs to hoist her up. This pressure, jostling across the room with her legs clamped tightly around him, is just as fantastic, if not more so, and Emma only just manages to muffle her moan by pulling their mouths back together. It doesn’t entirely work, really; Killian chuckles like he sees right through it, the wonderful bastard. 

(She loves him, loves him,  _ loves him _ , but damn if a woman doesn’t want to keep her secrets sometimes.)

(Her dignity, more like - but then again, they’re about to happily make love in his brother’s very impressive office, so that ship has already sailed far beyond the horizon.)

“Now tell me,” she teases as Killian deposits her on the desktop as gently as his haste allows, “are we doing this because you want me, or because you want to get back at your brother?”

“Why can’t it be both, darling?” he teases right back, winking clumsily. It’s more of a facial spasm, and maybe anyone else would laugh - hell, maybe in a different moment, she would too - but right now, with his stump at her hip and his thumb inching up towards her breast, coming closer and closer with each gentle sweep… it’s somehow working for her, causing her muscles to twist even tighter in anticipation. 

Maybe, in those other circumstances, she’d have another clever comeback, but now Emma just yanks on those damned suspenders she so loves on him to pull Killian back within the range of her mouth. When she twines a hand up and into his hair, eliciting a moan from Killian as she roughly tugs on the ends, she knows it’s her that he wants anyways - always her. 

She’s been complaining about the New York City heat since it first intensified in mid-June, but she will admit this: the one good thing about this summer hotness is the light cotton dresses it demands, allowing Killian to snake his hand and arm up under the fabric and past the tops of her stockings to caress along the sensitive skin of her thighs in a way that the tighter silhouettes and fuller crinolines of winter don’t allow. This time, it’s Killian with far too many layers - the suspenders and the crisp white shirt and the soft cotton undershirt, all of which she’s usually so fond of but today drive Emma mad, keeping her away from his bare skin and the glorious expanse of black hair furring his chest. There’s no time to undress fully; if they’re going to do this, it’s going to have to be quick. That doesn’t stop her from yanking at shirttails to weasel her hands underneath. It’s probably wrinkling his shirt beyond all respectability, but Emma can’t bring herself to care. At least the suit coat was left outside; one less layer between Emma and her treasure.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs in her ear as he reaches the scalloped trim of her underwear. Maybe one of these early, solitary mornings, she’ll wear something special for him to discover underneath her skirts, but today it’s just a practical cotton pair. 

As much as she appreciates the courtesy of his asking, the question feels a little ridiculous; if he’d just move those fingers slightly to his left, he could tell just how much by the growing dampness seeping into the fabric.

“So sure,” she says instead, releasing Killian to lean back upon her elbows so she can lift her hips. He takes the hint easily enough, thankfully, working the cotton down her legs to leave her exposed to the humid air. As he stands back up, Emma quickly works the skirt of her dress out from underneath herself to try and avoid any damp stains on the cotton. 

Without that barrier, it’s easy to pick up where they left off. Emma could enjoy the way their tongues duel and teeth nip all day, but she’s forced to pull away on a breathless gasp as Killian’s fingers begin to stroke the flesh around her entrance before one presses in. It’s easy to get carried away on the sensations he sends shivering through her, so she doesn’t resist it, resting her head on his shoulder and letting Killian mouth at her neck as he adds a second finger and begins working his thumb again her nub. It’s good,  _ so  _ good, and as simple as it sounds it’s something he’s perfected, hitting all the right spots with just the right rhythm. Emma’s tried to replicate it on herself, when she’s alone at night and plagued by thoughts of Killian, but it’s never quite the same, the coordination or angle somehow lacking, and she inevitably turns back to her own methods to get the job done. What he’s doing, though…  _ God,  _ it’s so damn good, and she can feel herself starting to ramp up towards a spectacular climax.

Blindly, she begins fumbling at his own buttons and zippers, desperate to make him feel just as good as he’s making her feel and really get down to the main event. Still, Killian stops her before she can even pull him out of the front of his trousers, murmuring thirsty pleas in her ear.

“Not yet, love, not yet,” he begs. “Come for me first. Let me make you feel good, I know you’re almost there, just come for me, darling, and I’ll give you what you want, I’ll give it all to you —” As he talks, he picks up the pace with his fingers, adding a little twist with his fingers and she’s gone, the maneuver sending her flying into that pleasurable abyss with a soft cry and a burst of pleasure.

As soon as she comes back to herself, Emma reaches for Killian again, frantically pushing at the suspenders holding his slacks up as he extracts his fingers just to reach for the condom stashed in his pocket. Truthfully, there’s a part of Emma that wants to keep the suspenders, just so she has something to hold onto and anchor herself through the sensory overload she knows is still to come, but the suspenders are keeping his trousers on too, so they’ve got to go. They’ve  _ got _ to  _ go _ .

“Slow down, love,” he chuckles. “There’s no need to go that fast.” His words are interrupted by his own moan at the end, however, as Emma finally gets her hand around his cock, stroking the soft steel and hopefully driving him mad. That’s the goal, at least - the same delicious torment he’s been putting her through. She thinks it’s working, too, if the way he drops his head back and starts to breathe in pants is any indication.

“Ok, Swan, you win,” he manages to gasp out. “Help me with the condom, and we can both get some relief.”

And god,  _ what _ a relief it is once the protection is taken care of and he’s sinking into her with a groan. Killian curses under his breath as her muscles instinctively clench around his length and then he’s moving, moving, driving them both towards bliss with every piston of his hips as Emma starts to lose herself again in the pleasurable drag of his cock within her. 

There’s not much room to meet his thrusts, perched as she is on the mahogany desk with her legs clamped tight around Killian’s hips, but thankfully the angle is just right to allow him to unerringly hit just the right spot with each drive of his cock, sending sparks of pleasure shooting under her skin with every movement. 

“God that’s good,” she gasps. “Just - oh  _ God _ , Killian, right there, that’s so damn good —”

“You like that, love?” he throws back, almost mindlessly, surely too caught up in all the sensation to properly process anything he’s saying. Emma knows she can’t. “You like this, darling, love the feel of me inside you, love the way I take you just like this, half clothed and desperate where anyone might hear? I know you do, love, can feel how wet you are, feel how you tremble and clench —”

“I do, I love it,  _ so  _ good,” she whimpers. “I’m close, Kil, I’m so close, just need —” She doesn’t even know what she needs - maybe not anything else at all, with the way heat is rushing through her veins - but it’s true; she’s right there, so close to toppling over the edge and hopefully pulling him along with her.

Killian grunts and readjusts his hand on her thigh, and suddenly, something about the firm grip or the increased sensation of his coarse leg hair along her thighs or  _ something _ but that’s it, that’s it, that’s  _ it _ and she’s coming, flying, soaring across the finish line as indescribable pleasure floods her veins. 

Once they both catch their breath, Killian carefully withdraws and deals with the condom before stooping to retrieve a handkerchief from one of his pants pockets to clean her up.

“Mr. Prepared,” she mumbles with a smile.

“Aye, that’s me,” he agrees genially. “Now, after all that,” he whispers more deviously, “do you still doubt that it’s you I wanted?”

“Perish the thought,” Emma replies, borrowing one of Killian’s phrases. And it’s true: he’s made it perfectly clear that she’s the one thing he wants more than anything, and she’s never had any reason to doubt it. 

Never has, never will. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well that got smutty. I don't know how it happened. Special thanks to @thejollyroger-writer for looking this over for me!
> 
> Also posted on tumblr - I'm @shireness-says. Come give it some love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


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